


Waiting for Dawn

by jaztice



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ... - Freeform, Beginnings of Romance, Drabble, F/M, GET IT, I renamed it sorry, I'll add more as I add more drabbles, Kings and Queens, Nightmares, OKAY SO I WROTE ANOTHER DRABBLE SO I GUESS THIS IS JUST GOING TO BE A DRABBLE COLLECTION NOW, Please Love me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teasing, anyway, but get it the title is a reference to the fics AND to the long night, formerly Snow Cloaks and Other Such Things, idk where this will take me but I'm gonna keep writing until I can't anymore, im disgusting and I know it, leave me alone, not in a sexual way in a romantic way, playful banter, talking about feelings, the 'boy puts jacket on girl' cliche bc I'm complete and utter trash, ya nasties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaztice/pseuds/jaztice
Summary: Queen Daenerys Targaryen, now ruler of Southern Westeros, received word from the North that King Jon Snow needed her assistance in fending off armies of the dead, so she, her armies, and her dragons traveled North to Winterfell. She knew what to expect from the North - cold and snow, people hardened by winters - but somehow, it still surprised her. The North was not all she'd imagined it to be.And neither, she discovered, was its king.





	1. Snow, Cloaks, and Other Such Things

**Author's Note:**

> my mom and I started shipping this halfway through season 6 and now I can't stop help me
> 
> Jon finds Daenerys on top of the Broken Tower of Winterfell, looking out at the snow, and decides to join her

“I thought I’d find you up here.”

Daenerys turned in surprise to find Jon Snow, King of the North, approaching her where she stood at the top of the Broken Tower of Winterfell. His boots crunched in the snow blanketing the stone walkway – blanketing everything – until he stood beside her and stopped, staring out at the vast expanse just as she was. She assumed he was most likely used to the view; he’d grown up in the North, lived in Winterfell for most of his life, and spent a great deal of the rest of it on the Wall, where you could see everything and anything for miles, at least so she was told. But when she glanced at his face, she saw nothing but a reflection of her own emotions, and that surprised her as well.

“It looks different,” he said, as if sensing her thoughts. “The North.”

Her brows furrowed. “How so?” she asked.

“I’ve never seen the lands around my home completely covered in snow.” He smiled – Dany thought it fit him better than the suspicious scowl he seemed to wear around her men. “It’s… blank, almost, like the birth of a new world. Peaceful.”

Dany nodded, understanding, and turned back towards the view. She’d never seen snow in her life until she traveled to the North, to meet its king and aid in its war. She’d had intentions of forcing them to join her kingdom, conquer them just as she had the rest of Westeros, but she could tell that would be a poor choice to make from the moment she stepped foot beyond the Neck.

 _The North will never be ruled by an outsider_ , Tyrion had told her, back when they’d taken King’s Landing. _I believe, my queen, that it is the one place you will never truly be able to conquer._

When he first told her such, Daenerys had every intention of proving him wrong.

Now, she understood what he meant.

“It’s so quiet,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but loud all the same. The snow had fallen last night and stopped a few hours earlier, the sun still hidden below the horizon, and everything she could see was silent and still. It did seem peaceful, in its own way. A colder way than she was used to, but peaceful all the same.

“Quiet and cold,” she lamented, and then sighed. “What is it you wish to discuss, your Grace?”

“Discuss?” he asked. “Oh, nothing really. I just... wanted to catch you alone before we began our war council. I didn’t have the chance after you arrived last night.”

Dany gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Why did you wish to catch me alone?” 

“To know you." Jon glanced at her, and Dany turned away. "Leaders live before their armies. You find the people they are beneath only without them."

There was truth to it, and Dany could tell that this Jon Snow was much wiser than his years implied. She supposed war would do that to a person. It had, after all, had the same effect on her.

“Well,” she said, beginning to hate the silence – it was never this quiet in Essos, in the grasslands or the cities or even the roads between them, and though it’d been bearable for a while, the still quiet of snowfall began to feel like a void. “Now that we’re alone, King Snow, what do you make of me?”

He smiled again and turned his head, searching her face. His eyes were much darker with so little light, she realized. Dark and sad, and something else she didn’t quite grasp. Strange.

Then he noticed her shiver, and he smirked.

“Someone not used to the cold,” he replied.

She cast him a glare – it was not wise to poke fun at someone with three dragons and an army, and she was sure he knew that very well. “I was raised in warmer climates, Jon Snow,” she informed him, as if he didn’t already know. “I am the Unburnt, not the Unfrozen.”

That made his smile grow, and it really was much nicer than that brooding, sullen look he’d worn all yesterday, but Dany was still annoyed, so she turned away once again. Let him poke his fun. If he truly tested her, he’d understand very quickly that she was not to be mocked.

It was silent and still once again, for a moment, and then Jon Snow began to move, his cloak rustling next to her. Dany stared straight ahead and paid no attention; if he wished to leave, he could.

Then she felt something warm drape over her shoulders, and Dany turned, surprised.

“What are you doing?” she asked, though she knew perfectly well what he was doing. Jon Snow had taken his cloak – his ridiculous, broad shouldered cloak that all men in the North seemed to wear – and draped it over her own shoulders.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked.

“I’ve a cloak of my own, thank you.”

“It’s thin as paper and barely keeps out the cold, your Grace. And I may not be the Unburnt, but I am a Snow.” He turned away, smiling. “I’ll be fine without it.”

Using her own comment against her. Irritating.

Dany sighed and turned away as well, shifting so the cloak sat more comfortably on her shoulders. It was much warmer, she had to admit, though she doubted it did anything for her figure. Though, dressing for figure didn't seem to be the custom in the North; dressing for winter was.

 Something Lord Tyrion mentioned about cloaks and Westeros came to her mind, and as she saw the sky turn purple in the east, she decided to say it.

“Isn’t this–” She gestured to the cloak. “–a wedding tradition? In Westeros?”

What was left of the smile slipped off Jon’s face, and a blush came under his cheeks. Amusing.

“That was… not my intent,” he said, almost nervous. That amused Dany further – nervousness, from the King in the North, and most specifically that she’d been the cause of it.

“It wasn’t?” Dany asked – now it was her turn to smirk. “Then what was?”

“Concern.” Jon cast her a glance. “It wouldn’t do to have the Queen of the Andals and the First Men freeze to death on my tower, would it?”

They shared another look – his eyes _were_ very dark, Dany realized, and very sad, but they were also… gentle. Gentle and kind. She hadn’t expected that.

When she’d first learned of Jon Snow, Daenerys had believed him to be cold and hard, like the ice and steel he lorded over, and he _was_ that. He was in battle, he was when he commanded, and he was when he welcomed her and her entourage into Winterfell. But here, he was different. Not someone else, but simply a different facet of the same jewel, a face that was kind and caring, more capable of understanding than the face of a leader or king.

Dany felt herself smile, before she could stop herself, and quickly turned away before she could give him the satisfaction.

“I suppose freezing to death would be a rather unfortunate end,” she replied. The horizon to the east was beginning to turn different hues of purple, red, and pink, chasing away the stars to make way for the sun. It was beautiful. “Perhaps we should go inside.”

“Perhaps.”

They smiled at each other again, and Dany followed Jon back inside the tower, where it was still cold, but at least the air didn’t bite at your face. Once they reached the base of the stairs, Jon stopped and held out his hand, giving her what he probably thought was a charming smile.

“May I have my cloak back, your Grace?” he asked.

Dany considered it, then returned a charming smile of her own.

“Why, I thought you gave it to me,” she replied, “out of _concern_. Besides, you’re a Snow. I was under the impression you didn’t need your cloak anymore.”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and Jon, after a moment, simply sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Unburnt,” he said. “Not Unfrozen. If you’re cold, you could just say so, your Grace.”

Dany scoffed and shook her head – annoying little king – and walked ahead, Jon following behind as they made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.


	2. Dreaming of Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so oops, I wrote another drabble. this fic may just turn into a Jonerys drabble collection. eheh. um.
> 
> thanks for all the nice comments though! I was expecting this to get like twenty hits at MOST by the end of the day, not 300+ and six really nice comments. I'm glad I'm not the only person who ships these two. 
> 
> now for more cliche trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The armies of the North and South are on march to the wall, and Jon Snow is having trouble sleeping.

The terrors woke him in the night, out in the middle of nowhere, and for a brief moment, Jon Snow had no idea where he was. At first he thought he was in Winterfell, then at the Wall, then Winterfell again, until finally he realized he was in a tent in the snow, surrounded by armies, all of them on the march to meet the army of undead at the Wall.

He let loose a shaky sigh and fell back down on his hammock, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the nightmare still echoing in his mind.

Screaming, everyone had been screaming. They were always screaming.

Jon closed his eyes. _Stop_ , he commanded his thoughts. _Stop, leave me be. Shut up._

Of course, they didn’t. They never had.

The dreams had been more frequent since the battle for Winterfell; perhaps he should see a maester about them. But now wasn’t the time for that. They were marching to fight the Others, and even with the Queen’s dragons, it wasn’t guaranteed they would win. The last thing his men needed was to see their King in the North brought to heel by his own mind.

When sleep did not return to him, Jon opened his eyes again and got out of bed, dressing for the cold and stepping outside. The men standing watch looked at him, surprised.

“I’m taking a walk,” he told them. “No need to accompany me, I’ll be fine on my own.”

They nodded in reply and stayed at their posts, and Jon was left alone to wander the camp.

He didn’t stay in the camp for long, instead weaving between tents and horses until he reached the eastern edge, walking as good a ways away from the encampment as he dared. When the torches were pinpricks behind him and he was sure the sentries couldn’t hear him over the winds, Jon Snow sat down on a wide rock overhanging a small dip in the lands below him, mostly covered in snow save one section where it’d fallen off.

He let his legs dangle, like he was a child, and stared at the horizon, trying to remember how to breathe.

It didn’t take long for him to start crying.

Jon gritted his teeth, trying to fight the tears, but it was no use; they bubbled up out of him after every nightmare, and he could do nothing to stop them. It was better to be away from camp, where people could hear him. Out here, only the snow and the wind were witness to it.

And Ghost, apparently. Not long after he sat down, Jon’s direwolf joined him on the rock, nuzzling his arm until Jon wrapped it around his body, the wolf resting his head in Jon’s lap. He must’ve followed him out of camp, the sly thing. Ghost always knew when he needed comfort.

And he was comforting, for a while. And warm. Jon’s tears had begun to freeze on his face, hot as they were, so he reached up and wiped them away, even as more began to fall.

He should be grateful for everyone still alive.

But so many people he loved were gone.

Ghost suddenly sat up, his ears twitching, and then he left and walked away, towards the encampment. Jon turned around, wondering where he was going – was something wrong? Perhaps some of the men were fighting; Ghost always seemed to know where Jon was needed most.

But no, his wolf stopped a third of the way to the camp, in front of a figure Jon only barely saw in the darkness, nuzzling her hand and beckoning her forward. If it weren’t for the torchlight shining off her long, silver hair, Jon wouldn’t have seen her at all.

 _Daenerys_ , he thought, smiling, and then suddenly his smile slipped away and was replaced with shame, so Jon turned back around, staring at the horizon again. Another tear slipped out of his eye and he wiped it away quickly.

 _Stupid_ , he thought. _Stupid, stupid_.

What was she doing here?

Ghost arrived first, placing his head back in Jon’s lap as he’d done before, and Jon was left to wonder why his wolf had brought Queen Daenerys Stormborn to him when it was obvious he wanted to be left alone. Then he wondered what Queen Daenerys Stormborn was doing out and about herself, and that train of thought was interrupted by Dany sitting down next to him on the outcropping, dangling her legs like a child over the edge. Just like he was.

“Hello,” she said simply. Her voice was quiet and soft in the darkness, but he could hear her over the winds; they’d grown quieter as dawn grew closer.

Jon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. There was a lump in his throat that would break if he opened his mouth, so he kept it shut, staring ahead instead.

It fell silent between the two of them. Jon could feel something there, a tension that one of them had to break. The sky was still dark but it was beginning to lighten, some stars near the eastern edge of the sky beginning to fade. Ghost fell asleep in his lap, his body rising and falling against him, keeping him warm, keeping him sane.

Tears started building behind Jon’s eyes again, and he looked down, inhaling through his nose. _Don’t_ , he thought to himself. _Don’t_.

He made the mistake of inhaling through his mouth instead, and the trembling of his chest seemed loud without the wind, with Daenerys sitting so close, and Jon wished he were anywhere but here.

Dany, however, only sighed, still staring out at the horizon, perhaps out of respect.

“I dream of my brother, sometimes,” she said.

Jon blinked, a few tears falling, and stared at Dany, surprised. That wasn’t at all what he’d expected her to say.

“They’re not good dreams,” she continued, still staring at the horizon like it anchored her. “They’re never good dreams. I don’t… I don’t think I can remember the last time I had a good dream.”

Jon blinked again, then nodded, looking out towards the east as well.

“I haven’t had good dreams in a long time,” he eventually said.

Dany nodded, and suddenly the space between them seemed both too close and too far away; like they were each opening their own box, slowly lifting the lid, and neither was sure if what was inside would want to be shown. If it’d explode and take them both with it, or simply shrink away and hide again, safer in the dark.

Jon decided he would start.

“I dream of my family,” he began. “Of my father, and my brothers Rob and Rickon, and my friends at the wall and the dead I’ve seen.” His heart was racing, and he forced himself to calm. “I… I see Rickon the most. He’s… running towards me, on the field before the Boltons, and we’re reaching for each other, I’m trying to grasp his hand, and–”

The dream – the memory – flashes up before he can stop it, and Jon sees an arrow go through Rickon’s heart, spraying blood on his face, still warm and tasting like iron, and then Rickon falls to the ground, twitching, and then never moving again.

His little brother’s face, scared and desperate, his eyes filled with fear, and then he was gone, gone before Jon could save him. And Jon, idiot that he was, had truly believed he could.

Then the rest of the dream resurfaced, and Jon saw Rickon in a field of snow, rising up with skin like ice and dead blue eyes, along with his father and Catelyn Stark, and Rob and Ygritte and Grenn and all the others Jon saw die or dead or dying, and then they were coming, running at him with eyes dead and full of hate, because Jon had loved them and he couldn’t save them, and if he couldn’t save them then how could he think himself worthy to lead anything?

He gritted his teeth and realized he was crying again, the tears hot enough to fall off his face before they froze in the cold. They were wrong, his dreams, his thoughts, he knew they were wrong. But that didn’t stop them.

Then suddenly, Jon felt someone gasp his hand and squeeze, and he saw Daenerys Targaryen watching him, her eyes soft and sad, her hand resting in his. He forced himself to take a breath, stare at the horizon again, and squeeze her hand back. The sky to the east was turning orange.

It was silent, the two of them watching the sunrise. And then:

“I dream of my brother too.”

Jon nodded – he knew this, she’d told him already. But she wasn’t finished.

“They aren’t… the same as your dreams,” she continued. “My brother wasn’t someone I loved. He…”

She fell silent again, lost in thought, and Jon squeezed her hand to reassure her, just as she’d done for him.

“He was horrible,” she eventually said. “Horrible in a way I’ll never forget. And my nightmares never let me forget, and I doubt they ever will.”

Her hand was trembling, just enough for Jon to notice. He rubbed his thumb against her wrist, gently, almost hesitantly, and when she didn’t take her hand away, he continued to do so.

“They say your trials… make you who you are,” Dany said, watching the sky turn pink. “And they do. I wouldn’t be who I am without them. But–”

“They scar you,” Jon finished, “for the rest of your life.”

Dany nodded, staring at him. “Yes,” she said. “They do.”

Silence filled the air between them once again, and the pair stared at each other; Jon once again realized how strange Daenerys’s eyes were – a bright, purple violet color, the color of Targaryen eyes, which Jon had always thought he’d see as unnatural. Yet in Dany, those eyes were perfect, fitting her as well as her hair and her dragons and her rule, and filled with a kind understanding that Jon hadn’t thought he’d see in them either.

A light suddenly hit her face, warm and orange, and Jon realized the sun had risen, peaking over the horizon; the two of them turned to it, squinting, but when they returned to each other, they were smiling.

Jon noticed tears frozen on Daenerys’s eyelashes, and he was surprised he hadn’t noticed her crying. But then, he realized, she’d had more practice concealing her tears than he had.

Ghost suddenly woke up from the light of the sun, and the sudden shift next to Jon surprised him enough to break the tension between them, letting his arm up so Ghost could stand. His wolf did so, shaking his fur, before trotting off to the camp. Jon could hear men beginning to wake.

He realized he and Daenerys were still holding hands, and he glanced at her, wondering if he should let go, as they both had to stand and return to camp before they were missed.

But as he looked at her, Dany smiled again, her eyes sparkling in the rising sun, and Jon suddenly had no desire to let go at all.

They stood up together, brushing the snow off their clothes, and held hands as they trudged through the drifts back to camp, fingers entwined, Ghost leading the way. Only when they were in sight of the sentries did they let go, letting their hands drop to their sides, but even then they remained close, as if moving too far apart would break the spell they both seemed to be under.

When Arya asked him later where he’d been that morning, Jon supposed he should’ve remembered the nightmare. But all he did was smile, glancing at Dany, and informed Arya that it was none of her business.


End file.
